


Fall

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-28
Updated: 2006-02-27
Packaged: 2018-08-15 17:46:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8066887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Enterprise is dispatched to investigate a strange phenomenon, and upon arrival, a member of the crew begins to exhibit signs of unusual behavior.  (02/17/2004)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

"Surprise!!!"

Malcolm seemed to be; he staggered back a bit.

Archer walked up and shook his hand.

"Happy birthday, Lieutenant!"

"Th- thank you, sir," he stammered.

Malcolm was drawn into the mess hall by the rest of the crowd, and every-one smiled and took turns greeting him. He appeared bemused and somewhat shaken.

"Ok, where's the cake at?" Trip asked, looking around the room.

"Ah, here it comes!" Phlox beamed. "Right on time!"

All heads turned towards the back of the mess hall as Hoshi emerged from the galley, hands full of flaming confection. Archer cleared his throat, clinched his fists, and started singing "Happy Birthday"; the rest joined in, as Malcolm fidgeted from the attention—his cheeks ros. The song ended with some modest cheering and a hearty round of applause.

Archer, still clapping, leaned towards T'Pol. "I didn't notice you singing, Sub-commander."

"I am...unfamiliar...with the words," she said flatly.

"Well, I'll have to see if I can find a copy of them for you," he poked, "for next time."

T'Pol gave him a wary glance, but he simply smiled at her and returned to the celebration.

Hoshi parted the crowd and carefully placed the cake on the covered table, then she hugged Malcolm, who was still in somewhat of a state.

"Make a wish!" she ordered.

The crowd hushed, and Malcolm, with a silly grin, glanced nervously around. He stepped up to the table and bent over, then he closed his eyes for a moment and blew, drawing a second breath to complete the job. Everyone applauded his success, then conversations flared, and the whole room hummed.

"What'd ya wish for Malcolm?" asked Trip, slapping him on the back.

"Well, I would tell you," he said, "but it's against regulations."

Trip laughed and handed him the serving knife.

"Just cut the cake, then," he smiled.

Malcolm took the knife and started to cut, then he paused and tried to take a head count. Archer noticed and leaned in.

"There's eleven," he winked.

"Thank you, sir."

He studied the cake for a moment, then his face contorted, and he puzzled. Hoshi, however, soon granted him a reprieve.

"Oh, and save a piece for Travis!" she chirped.

Malcolm sighed.

"Thank you, Hoshi," he said. "That makes it somewhat easier."

Reed calculated, measured, and cut. He gently placed the slice on a small plate and handed it to the first in line.

"Ah, thank you, Lieutenant!" Phlox grinned. He beamed at Malcolm for an instant, then he quickly devoted his full attention to the matter at hand.

The partiers passed in succession, and the sweet was shared. After the line had dissipated, Malcolm stared at the not-quite-empty cake tray in confusion. He glanced around the room and soon found his answer over by the wall—she was reading her padd and holding a mug.

Malcolm approached her.

"You're not having any cake, Sub-commander?"

T'Pol paused, then lowered her work.

"No, thank you, Lieutenant."

He gave her a slanted grin and a quick nod, and T'Pol returned to her data. Malcolm went back to the table and picked up his piece, and he was soon joined by the smiling Hoshi and the chewing Trip.

"Sorry," Hoshi apologized, shrugging. "We were out of balloons."

"That's quite all right, Hoshi," he said. "This is more than enough."

He reached behind her and grabbed a napkin.

"So how old are ya, Malcolm?" Trip smacked. "Ya know, I tried to count the candles, but the heat was too much for me."

Hoshi covered her mouth, fork in hand, and suppressed a giggle.

"At least mine didn't set off the ship's fire alarm like yours did," Malcolm quipped, rolling his eyes.

Hoshi hiccupped; Trip grinned, but he held his gaze.

"So?" he persisted.

"Let's just say I'm not too old to still enjoy cake," Malcolm said, taking a bite.

Hoshi leaned in and tilted her head towards Trip.

"He's thirty-four," she whispered.

"And just how did you know that?" Malcolm asked, feigning surprise.

"A little bird told me," Hoshi smiled coyly.

Close by, the captain chatted and mingled with smooth deliberation. He stopped for a moment and sipped his punch, then he noticed T'Pol over by the doorway—a portrait of purple discomfort on bulkhead gray. He sighed and ambled up to her.

"Enjoying the party?"

She paused and lowered her padd again.

"I suppose."

"Where's your cake?" he asked.

"Cake," she said flatly, "does not agree with me."

"I see," said the captain. "Well, it agrees with me!"

He took a bite, and the two of them shared the sound of his chewing for a moment. Finally, he looked back at T'Pol.

"I'm glad you decided to attend this time," he chinned. "It's...important."

"I suppose," T'Pol murmured, then she looked at him. "I am still uncertain as to why humans must celebrate their day of birth...every year."

"Oh?" Archer arched. "You don't have birthdays on Vulcan?"

"Not quite," she said. "We do have a ceremony that is somewhat similar.

However, it only takes place once every ten years, and it is much more...somber."

Archer looked at her.

T'Pol blinked.

"I'm...sure it is," he smiled. He took another bite, and noticed the doctor.

"Captain, Sub-commander," he grinned, nodding cordially.

"Doctor," she acknowledged.

"Having a good time, Phlox?" Archer asked.

"Oh, yes!" he beamed. "I always look forward to these, mmm, occasions, as I find they provide me with a wonderful opportunity to observe your, ahh...hmm." Phlox paused and studied T'Pol.

"Sub-commander? You're not having any- ?"

"No." Archer chuckled.

"It doesn't 'agree' with her," he whispered.

"Oh, well, that's a pity!" Phlox exclaimed. "I find cake to be one of earth's finer delicacies! Are you sure you won't try just a bite? Hmm?"

He offered her the loaded fork, and she stared at it as if it might suddenly go off.

"No," she said. "Thank you."

"It's...pineapple!" he coaxed.

T'Pol glared.

After a few minutes, the party settled down, and Captain Archer called everyone's attention.

"Now I know we all agreed," he paced, "not to give each other gifts on birthdays, but...Malcolm's been doing such a good job lately that I felt...compelled...to- Well..." He reached beneath the white table cloth and pulled out a modest-sized package, gift-wrapped in colorful paper. He handed it to Malcolm.

"You shouldn't have, sir!"

Archer smiled and patted him on the back.

"Go ahead, Malcolm," he said. "Open it up!"

Reed shot a nervous glance at Trip, who was staring at him, chewing with glee. He tore away the wrapping paper, and everyone leaned in.

Then he opened the box.

"What is it?" Hoshi asked, straining for a peek.

"It's a ship!" Archer beamed. "It's a replica—the HMS Victory!"

Malcolm carefully removed the collection of wooden sticks from the container.

Trip quickly turned away, and Hoshi introduced him to her elbow.

"Well, whatdaya think, Malcolm?" Archer grinned.

Malcolm hesitated then swallowed.

"I- I'm speechless, sir."

(Hoshi's elbow again found Trip's ribcage.)

"It's Nelson's," Archer continued. "Battle of Trafalgar!"

"Certainly, sir."

Archer noticed the doctor's interest and turned to him.

"Whatdaya think, Phlox?"

"Well," Phlox pondered, looking at the sticks, "though I am not...familiar with this particular, mmm, vessel, I'm sure it bears a...strong resemblance!"

"Thank you, Doctor," Archer nodded, then he held up his hands. "Now, I know it's a little rough around the edges...but if you hold it—" He took the ship from Malcolm, and a piece fell off.

"Don't worry about that. If you hold it just so..." He held it just so.

"See?"

"Very good, sir," Malcolm said.

Archer held it just so towards T'Pol.

"A fair...likeness," she said diplomatically.

Archer handed the creation back to its new captain, and another piece fell off.

"Don't worry about that," he said. "You know, I had planned to build it inside a bottle, but...I ran out of time."

"It's lovely, sir, really," Malcolm said. "I'll cherish it, thank you!"

He smiled, then carefully returned the Victory to dry dock. T'Pol reached down and gathered the pieces, which she delicately placed alongside.

"You know," Archer continued. "I was reading about Trafalgar just the other day, and I was surprised to learn that—"

The comm interrupted him.

"Captain to the bridge."

"What is it, Travis?"

"Star Fleet, sir," he said. "It's Admiral Forrest."

"Thank you, Ensign. Forward it to my ready room."

"Aye, Captain."

"I'll fix those pieces later, Malcolm," he smiled, turning. "Now if you all will excuse me..."

Malcolm started to thank him again, but Archer made a quick exit. T'Pol wandered over to the window and resumed her dissertation. Trip set his plate down on the table and stared into the box.

"Nice...ship ya got there, Cap'ain!"

"Be nice," Hoshi warned.

"Someone should say something," Malcolm whispered. "Captain Archer really needs to find a new hobby."

"I don't know," Trip shrugged. "I think he's gettin' the hang of it." He looked up at Malcolm.

"You've seen my 'Spirit of St. Louis'," he said. "At least this one kinda looks like a boat."

He peered back inside the box and craned his neck.

"Kinda..."

"Well, I, for one, adore my holographic clock," Phlox chimed in, helping himself to T'Pol's neglected slice of cake.

"Of course, it lacks a, mmm, certain...refinement," he continued. "But it's the thought that counts, isn't it? Hmm?"

"You're right, Doctor," Malcolm said. "I shall display it with pride...some day."

Trip laughed out loud, and Hoshi rolled her eyes.

"Well, I think it's sweet," she said, placing her dish on the table.

"Yeah?" Trip cracked. "And how's that knick-knack shelf of yours holdin' up?"

Hoshi smiled pleasantly and tilted her head. She hugged Malcolm again and patted him on the back.

"I...have to return to the bridge," she said. "Travis must be worried about his cake by now."

She collected the plate and made a swift retreat, throwing them a parting glance.

They both laughed, and Phlox wandered off with his new prize, as Trip fingered some left-over icing from the empty tray. T'Pol looked up as she heard the mess doors open. She watched Hoshi leave, and then she walked up to the two men and added her mug to the growing pile of dishes on the table.

"Congratulations, Lieutenant," she said.

Malcolm glanced at Trip.

"Sub-commander?"

"For successfully aging," T'Pol blinked. "I suppose."

Malcolm and Trip chuckled.

"Just wish him a happy birthday," Trip gently suggested, salvaging some crumbs.

"Happy...birthday, then" she nodded. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to—"

"So, uh, tells us, Sub-commander," Trip looked up, interrupting both her and his chewing. "When's your birthday?"

T'Pol paused, then leaned ever-so-slightly away. She stared at him for a moment, blankly.

The two men smiled and stared back.

"The...Vulcan calendar, as I am sure that you are aware, is very...different," she said carefully.

Malcolm returned his eyes to his plate and suppressed a smirk; Trip, on the other hand, raised his brows, and T'Pol released the shadow of a sigh.

"It would take some...advanced...calculations," she nodded. "Now, if you'll excuse me..."

She cautiously retreated to her data and started for the door.

"That's no problem, Sub-commander," Trip hollered. "I'll get the ship's computer working on that right away!"

T'Pol hesitated and half-looked over her shoulder, then she resumed her stride and left the mess hall.

* * *

Captain's Star Log: September 2nd, 2154.

Enterprise has been ordered to investigate a newly discovered planet in the Halmari system. Though long range scans have detected no signs of intelligent life, scientists at Star Fleet have picked up some...unusual readings. After briefing my senior staff, I ordered a routine maintenance check, and following its completion, we charted a course and set sail.


	2. Chapter 2

T'Pol sat perfectly straight, poised on the chair in her quarters, looking warily at her view screen. She stood up and started for the door, but then she paused and began re-making her bed. The comm sounded, and the captain's voice followed.

"Archer to T'Pol."

She eyed the control panel for a moment, then she leaned and pressed the button. "This is T'Pol," she said.

"I thought you were going to join us for breakfast this morning."

She hesitated, then she pressed the button again. "I apologize, Captain. I'm running...a bit behind. I will be there momentarily."

"Very good," he said. "Archer out."

T'Pol sat down on the edge of her bed and crossed her arms. She threw a glance at her terminal, and after a moment, she stood up and left the room.

* * *

"Blue."

"Purple."

"Nope, blue."

"If it's purple, I get to go, ok?"

"Alright, and if it's blue?"

"If it's blue...I'll stay up here and clean out the plasma ducts." "Fair enough."

"Ha!"

"Pretty confident, huh?"

"Blue was just three or four days ago. I haven't seen purple since the party, and that's been a whole two weeks!"

"So you figure it's...due?"

"That's what I'm sayin'."

"Well, what if it's neither?"

"Let's not complicate—"

(The doors to the captain's mess slid open.)

"—things..."

T'Pol hesitated for a moment, then she cautiously entered the room. Trip and Archer stood up in front of their mostly-empty plates.

"Good morning, Sub-commander," Archer smiled.

"Good morning, Captain," she said. "Commander."

"Mornin'."

T'Pol sat down at the table, and the steward brought her breakfast. Archer resumed his place and took a dangerous swig of orange juice. Trip remained standing; he picked up his plate and shoveled the rest of his scrambled eggs.

"Well, I hate to eat and run," he chewed, "but it looks like I've got a lotta work to do today."

"Don't wear yourself out, Trip," the captain nodded pleasantly.

The commander returned his plate to the table and garnished it with his napkin. T'Pol looked up at him as she forked something leafy. He wished them luck and left the room, the doors sliding shut behind him. Archer stirred his eggs for a few moments, then he turned to T'Pol.

"Well, today's the big day!" he boomed.

T'Pol twitched.

"Pardon?"

"Halmari Five!" he grinned. "Aren't you looking forward to it?"

"The reports were...intriguing," she admitted.

"Looks like it'll be you, me, and Phlox," he continued, finishing his sausage. "Travis, too. He needs to get out."

"Commander Tucker isn't- ?"

"He has other plans."

T'Pol quietly consumed a bite of carrot and downed it with some tea. Archer leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

"Any ideas as to what's up down there?" he asked.

T'Pol finished another bite, then sipped.

"The data suggest that it has something to do with—"

The comm cut her off.

"Captain, we're approaching the planet."

"Standard orbit, Travis," he replied, then he added, "Go ahead and notify Phlox."

"Aye, Captain, and...Doctor Phlox is standing right here."

Archer smiled.

"Very good," he said, then he returned his attention to T'Pol. "You were saying, Sub-commander?"

T'Pol cleared her throat.

"The data suggest that it has something to do with a large bio-mass," she continued. "I searched the Vulcan database and found nothing similar, so I assume that the bursts are...unique to this planet."

"So we will be adding to the Vulcan database, today?" Archer arched.

"Perhaps," she said.

The comm interrupted again, and Travis spoke.

"Captain, you...may want to see this."

"I'm on my way," he said.

* * *

"It's simply breath-taking!" Phlox exclaimed. "I can't wait to get down there!"

All eyes were on the view screen as the turbolift door opened. Archer swept onto the bridge, and T'Pol followed shortly.

The image showed the full round of a medium-sized, blue and green planet, which appeared to consist mostly of large land masses. The points of interest, however, were the numerous small patches of swirling colors that dotted the northern hemisphere.

"There goes another one!" Hoshi chirped.

"That makes a total of...fourteen," Malcolm added. "Minus the two that faded out."

As they watched, a dark green spot slowly blossomed into a tiny, circular rainbow. It undulated and shimmered, teasing the entire spectrum, and seemed to revolve around itself.

T'Pol quickly moved to the sensors.

"Whatever it is," Travis marveled. "It sure is pretty."

Archer turned to T'Pol.

"Anything?"

"Sensors confirm that the phenomenon is biological," she said. "Beyond that, however, the readings are...unspecific."

"Travis, can you get a tighter shot?"

The helmsman clicked a button, and the observers released a collective, "ahh!", as the screen filled with the brilliant swirling mass.

"Any ideas, Phlox?" Archer asked.

"I haven't the slightest, Captain," he shrugged. "I've never seen anything like it."

Archer leaned on the rail for a moment, then he stood up.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" he cracked. "Let's get down there and take a look. Travis, you're drivin'."

Mayweather lit up and handed over the helm. Hoshi looked expectantly at Archer.

"Captain?"

He smiled at her and shook his head.

"Not today, Hoshi," he said. "Maybe tomorrow, though."

Hoshi nodded her disappointment as the four headed towards the turbolift.

"Sir," Malcolm interjected. "Wouldn't it be wise to take a security officer with you? Just in case?"

"I think we'll be alright this time, Lieutenant," he smiled, then he nodded, "Nice try, though."

Malcolm sulked.

T'Pol paused and glanced at her data pad, then she looked up at Archer.

"Captain, I have selected several possible landing sites," she explained. "They are all similar to the last, prior to its...eruption."

"Very good," he said.


	3. Chapter 3

An odd-looking bird perched in an average-looking tree, gazing out at nothing in particular. The bird suddenly flinched as it heard an unfamiliar noise. The noise grew louder, and the bird made a squawking sound and flew.

The shuttlepod whined and glided gracefully past the edge of a great forest. To its left was what appeared to be a large lake, covered completely by a blanket of dark green slime. The engine strained, and the pod pulled up short, then it settled gently on the sandy beach near the woods.

T'Pol had suggested 'early morning', and the captain had agreed. Though the sun had yet to crest the trees, the area still offered plenty of light by which to explore.

After the pod had cooled its engine, the hush of dawn returned, accented only by occasional bird calls.

Momentarily, the hatch opened.

Archer stepped down from the shuttlepod and took a deep breath, gazing out across the covered lake. He squatted and picked up a handful of white sand, watching as it ran through his fingers.

T'Pol followed him from the craft and stepped lightly onto the beach. She glanced left and right, then she quickly flipped on her scanner and started analyzing the green mass.

Phlox fumbled from the hatch with a cumbersome array of bags and devices. He dropped them down next to T'Pol and made a bee-line for the shore, some twenty meters away.

Lastly, Mayweather exited, glowing with excitement. He tried to look at everything at once, then, after a moment, he circled the shuttlepod and examined the exterior. By the time that he returned to the open hatch, Phlox was back with some research.

"I believe that it is some sort of...insect larvae," he told the captain, holding forth his slimy hand. "If you look closely, you can see them, ah, wiggle!"

He raised the goo for Archer's inspection. The captain winced and snarled his nose, then he cautiously peered.

"Are you saying that the...storms...are these things?" he asked.

"It's highly likely, Captain."

T'Pol wandered over and scanned the dripping green ooze, then she headed off up the beach. After some distance, she paused and looked down, then she reached and picked something up.

Archer turned and paced, low-gear, his hands locked before him.

"Are you suggesting that they give off some sort of...light?" he furrowed.

"I simply do not know," Phlox said, averting his eyes. "I suppose we'll just have to wait and see, hmm?"

Pointing to his bags, the doctor politely asked Travis to find him a jar. Travis noisily rummaged through them until he found one that met Phlox's satisfaction. He opened it, and Phlox plopped the ooze inside. The doctor then looked around for a moment. Finally, he shrugged and bent down awkwardly, cleaning his hand on the beach.

"What time do you think they'll...hatch, Doc?" Travis asked, tossing him the lid.

Phlox puzzled, then started to answer, when T'Pol returned with her discovery.

"Captain."

"What is it?"

"I believe that I have found a...mature specimen," she said. "It is, however, deceased."

T'Pol presented her palm and scanned her fortune. She held a small butterfly- like creature, slightly larger than a thumbnail. Its tiny wings were translucent, but as she moved her hand, the wings seemed to change colors, reflecting reds, blues, yellows, and greens, all muted in the morning light.

"This creature appears to have the same genetic signature as the larvae," she stated.

Phlox engaged his device, and the two together produced a pleasant harmony.

"Are these things dangerous?" Travis asked.

Phlox didn't answer right away. Finally, he drew the scanner in close and pushed some buttons, then he looked up and chinned.

"I detect no signs of poisons, no harmful pathogens," he smiled. "I would say that they are as harmless as...butterflies, ha!"

"What about...everything else?" Archer asked.

"Our orbital scans picked up nothing out of the ordinary," he assured. "And the water, at least here, has high concentrations of sodium chloride—very few, if any, creatures can survive in such conditions. It's similar to your, mmm, Grand Salt Lake!"

"Great."

"I couldn't agree more, Captain!" Phlox beamed, then he flew off into a merry monologue of predictions.

Archer tried to correct him, but he gave up and listened. Phlox waxed scientific for quite a while, finally ending his speech with, "any minute now, hmm?"

* * *

"Any minute" turned into ten, then thirty, then sixty. Although the landscape was noticeably brighter, the alien yellow sun appeared to be pacing itself for the long day and had yet to breach the tall trees behind the shuttlepod. Though not unpleasantly so, the air was somewhat chilly, and it stirred on occasion from a light breeze.

Phlox spent the time fussing with his various instruments, while Travis wandered off into the woods. Archer sat silently on the beach, looking out across the dark green lake; T'Pol stood near by, consumed with her device. Finally, she turned it off and attached it to her belt. Archer took notice and spoke.

"Nothing left to scan?" he asked.

She paused, then she walked up to him, hands behind her back.

"No."

Archer smiled down at his feet, then he patted the ground next to him.

"Have a seat," he said. "Enjoy the view."

T'Pol looked at him, then she considered the sand for a moment. Finally, she relented and sat stiffly. She folded her legs as if preparing to meditate, then she stared blankly across the slime-covered water.

"Something...bothering you today?" he asked. "You seem a little...distracted."

"I suppose it is the...gravity," she said flatly, then she consulted her scanner. "It is approximately 1.26327 times that of Enterprise."

"You sure?"

T'Pol blinked then offered him the proof; Archer graciously declined.

"You know," he said, leaning back on his elbows. "There are all kinds of butterflies on earth. Some, like Monarchs, even migrate. They travel...thousands of miles every year from Canada to Mexico."

"Fascinating."

"I remember...when I was a kid," he continued. "They always passed through upstate. Me and my cousins, we used to...go out...and hunt them...out in the fields on my uncle's farm. We'd search for hours and hours."

(A few meters away, Phlox clanked something; he fumbled, then he clanked something else.)

"We would, uhh, bring them back home and play with them for a while," he tried. "Then we'd just let them go on their way. They usually just...fluttered off."

(Somewhere in the forest, a bird flapped its wings. A twig snapped, distant and muted, and leaves lightly crunched.)

"They're sort of yellow and...orange-ish, Monarchs are..." he struggled. "They've got some...black spots on them, too. Big...they're big. You lay one out and it's a good, oh, I don't know, twenty or so...centimeters across...or something..."

(The shuttlepod shifted and softly creaked.)

Archer wearily sat up and stretched his back, then he exhaled deeply.

T'Pol blinked.

Archer sniffed and cleared his throat.

"Do you have...uhh...butterflies on Vulcan?" he asked the lake.

"Yes," she said.

Archer nodded, then he looked over towards the ever-busy Phlox and grimaced, tugging on his earlobe. T'Pol paused, then she also looked towards the doctor. She took a short breath.

"I kept one for a while," she said slowly, "as a child."

Archer carefully returned his attention to the lake.

"You...had a pet butterfly?"

"Not a pet," she clarified. "It was...an experimental subject."

"Did this...'subject'...have a name?" he peeked, scratching his jaw.

She paused then gave him a wary glance.

"Jal Lox," she said.

Archer bit his lip and turned his head for a moment.

"Was it...colorful?" he asked, looking up at nothing.

T'Pol shifted as if sitting upon an uncomfortable grain of sand.

"No," she replied cautiously. "It was quite...plain."

"How long did you, uhh, study it?"

"For almost ten—" she started. Then she stopped abruptly and focused intently on the lake.

Archer looked at her.

"T'Pol?"

"Wait."

"What?"

She stood up, and Archer followed suit.

"What?"

"Listen," she shushed.

A faint popping sound came from the lake, then another, then several, over- lapping.

"Captain!" yelled Phlox.

"We hear it."

Phlox quickly turned on several devices, and Mayweather sprinted out of the tree line and ran down to assist him. T'Pol opened her scanner and held it towards the green mass, and Archer leaned over her shoulder.

The pops continued, and dozens of tiny flies began flittering about the surface. After a moment, the whole lake fell silent, until suddenly, the popping resumed in earnest.

Then the lake exploded.

The sound was as though some distant celebration was drawing to a climax. An unseen hand lit an entire package of firecrackers, which in turn, ignited the entire box, then the flames quickly spread to the factory. Though a single puff was barely audible, the dissonance of the mass communion produced a low, rolling rumble.

This noise was joined directly by a soft flapping, which grew louder as thousands, then millions, then billions of little butterflies breached the surface. Each released a tiny sprout of water, and the entire lake seemed to boil and bounce as a breeze blew in towards shore.

The surface of the lake, now very much alive, began to ascend, and the vast host of flies circled in upon itself, rising slowly, singular in thought and purpose. The distant shoreline wavered, then undulated, diffused through gossamer wings, until finally, the top of the swarm broke the tree line, and the air itself seemed to burst into flames, bathing the landscape below with the light of a thousand colors.

The breeze blew into a steady wind, warm with the smell of salt, and the multitudes rose higher and higher. The popping rapidly diminished, leaving only the constant rush of infinite wings, and the bubbling lake simmered and chopped. As more and more millions reached the sunshine, the entire sky became a kaleidoscope of blues, yellows, silvers, greens, and reds, with all imaginable colors in between—ever changing, iridescent, climbing, swirling, higher.

After a few minutes, the gigantic cloud seemed to rise no more, though it continued its slow revolution and broadened somewhat. The wind faded back to breeze, then the breeze, itself, withdrew, leaving behind an eerie silence beneath the vast ocean of color above.

Then the lake grew still.

Suddenly, from the center of the rainbow storm, a single fly fell—floating, tumbling, like a sparkler, flashing through the entire spectrum and back again, before finally landing silently on the water. A few more followed, then a few dozen, then a steady stream descended gently from the circling mass, like painted cherry blossoms, like psychedelic snow flakes. Soon, the air was filled, saturated completely with falling butterflies, most landing on the lake, some landing on the shore, where they flittered a bit before laying still.

Archer, who had stood motionless up until now, finally looked over at Travis and Phlox, both with their mouths wide open. After a moment, they appeared to shake the trance, also, and they looked back at him in wonder. Archer shook his head and returned his eyes to the heavens, then he quickly glanced at his neglected science officer.

Intently focused, she held her scanner at arm's length, watching as the data flashed. He looked at the scanner, then he looked down at her, but she did not appear to notice. He paused for a moment, then slowly reached out and gently pulled the device from her hand. She glared up at him in dismay, and Archer softly smiled, meeting her eyes, as he casually tossed the thing to the sand. She looked at the scanner, then back at him, then she crossed her arms and peered out across the sparkling lake, as the butterflies continued their fall.

Archer bent and sat upon the beach. Without looking, he reached beside him and tapped T'Pol's leg. She flinched and glanced down, then she stared at him for a moment before returning her eyes to the lake. Finally, she relented and sat beside him, and they quietly watched until the last fly fell, almost ten minutes later.

T'Pol lightly sighed. She swiped a few butterflies from her hair, then examined the rest of herself for more. Finding none, she looked up at Jonathan Archer. He sat motionless, hands around his knees, and though he was still gazing out across the lake, his eyes appeared to focus farther than the distant shore.

She hesitated, then reached and brushed a tiny butterfly from his shoulder.

Archer noticed, and he cleared his throat. He looked down at her with a fleeting smile, then briefly glanced up. He extended his arm and gently plucked a fly from her hair and gave it to her. Looking away, he slowly got to his feet.

She considered the butterfly in her palm for a moment, then she considered the hand near her shoulder.

"T'Pol?"

She traded, and Archer helper her up.

Phlox slowly approached them and started to speak, but nothing came out.

Finally, he took a deep breath and quietly said, "Thank you, Captain."

Archer smiled and nodded.

"Where's Travis?" he asked.

"I, mmm, think the ensign wanted to...inspect the shuttlepod, perhaps?"

Archer thought for a moment, then he nodded again.


	4. Chapter 4

On the brief trip back to Enterprise, Phlox finally found the words that he had misplaced on the planet below, and he spewed, effervescing. After a brief decon, the captain went to the galley to see Chef, and Travis stayed behind to help the doctor with his numerous samples.

T'Pol left quickly and took a circuitous route to her quarters. She immediately changed her clothes, then started for the door, before pausing and returning to her monitor. She pulled out her chair and sat. After a long moment, she began analyzing her data.

An hour later, the comm sounded.

"Phlox to T'Pol."

She glared at the button for a instant, then she pushed it.

"This is T'Pol."

"I have made several, mmm, insights with regards this species," he sang. "I thought you might be interested to see what I've discovered, hmm?"

T'Pol straightened her shoulders and corrected an entry, then she responded.

"Perhaps...later, doctor," she said. "I...am still working on my analysis."

Archer's voice took over.

"Just bring what you have so far," he said. "I'm sure that...Phlox's work will help you speed things up."

The comm fell silent for a second, then Archer added, "And visa-versa, of course."

T'Pol rested her hands in her lap and closed her eyes.

"Sub-commander?"

She raised her brows and sighed, then she looked back at the comm.

"I'm on my way," she said.

* * *

"He hurried off to his quarters. I believe he mentioned something about preparing a surprise for Hoshi, hmm?"

"I see," he said.

Archer turned as the doors to sickbay slid open, and he suppressed a slight grin. T'Pol stood motionless in the entryway for a moment, then she cautiously stepped inside and approached them.

"Glad you could make it, Sub-commander," he smiled. "Phlox, here, was just telling me about the...bugs."

She stood with her hands behind her back, and the doctor continued.

"A remarkable species," he mused. "They appear to lie dormant for quite some time, perhaps as long as two years, at which point, they receive some cue and hatch simultaneously."

"Why did they all die?" Archer asked.

"I've been trying to figure that one out myself," he said. "From the samples that we collected, it seems that about half are, well...pregnant."

"My scans confirm this as well," T'Pol added.

"How can a dead butterfly be pregnant?" the captain furrowed.

"Perhaps 'pregnant' isn't the appropriate term," he said thoughtfully. "Many of the dead butterflies contain fertilized eggs, which I believe will eventually, mmm, hatch and feed...from the body of the butterfly, itself."

Archer looked disgusted.

"So what you are suggesting, Doctor," T'Pol inferred, "is that this species mates...and then dies?"

"Precisely, Sub-commander!"

"They only live for a few minutes?" Archer puzzled.

"Well, yes," Phlox shrugged, "in the...adult stage of development. I surmise that they spend many years as larvae first, however, before finally coalescing into the, ah, green slime that we observed."

"The pupal stage?" T'Pol asked.

"Exactly!" Phlox said. "I see you know your insects!"

"I have had some...experience."

Archer turned around and paced a short circle.

"So they spend ninety-nine percent of their lives as...grubs?" he grasped.

"The figure would be closer to ninety-nine, point-nine, nine, nine," T'Pol corrected. "My scans indicate that many of the specimens were close to ten- years-old."

Archer furrowed, then he turned back to Phlox.

"Is this...common?" he asked. "In insects?"

Phlox primed his lower lip and shook his head "It is not unheard of," he said, "though it is quite rare...Denobula has a species of moth that behaves similarly. Earth has at least one of which I am familiar—the mayfly. It spends most of its life as a...worm...then it hatches and lives for, mmm, about a day. Have you ever heard of them?"

"No," Archer said. "Not that I recall."

He thought for a moment, then he added, "So how many more...are ready to burst?"

T'Pol answered. "I have found approximately one hundred and thirty-six additional sites that are in the...final stages of maturation."

Phlox perked at the news and turned back towards the captain.

"I would love the chance to study them some more," he hummed. "If we're not in too much of a, mmm, hurry?"

Archer patted his shoulder. "No, Doc, that's what we're here for," he smiled. "Take your time and let me know what you need."

"Thank you, Captain," he bowed.

"I'll leave you two to compare notes," he said. "If anyone wants me, I'll be on the bridge."

Phlox nodded graciously, and Archer left. T'Pol began sharing her data with him, but he appeared disinterested. She eventually noticed and looked up. Phlox smiled and raised his nose.

"Are you, mmm, feeling alright today, Sub-commander?"

"Why do you ask?" she blinked.

"Well, I noticed that you haven't been...acting yourself," he said softly. "Is there something the matter?"

"Not at all," she said, then she thought for a bit and added, "Perhaps some- thing on the planet...The gravity was...significant."

Phlox chuckled.

"That's one way of putting it," he mused.

T'Pol raised her eyebrows slightly.

"What are you implying, Doctor?" she asked.

"Today's experience was quite...poignant, don't you think? Some might go so far as to say that it was...profound?"

"I do not understand."

"Surely you must have been...moved by what you saw," he shrugged. "We all were. I think I even heard young Ensign Mayweather sniffle once or twice, hmm? There's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Vulcans do not feel—" she started. "Vulcans are not 'moved'."

"Nonsense," Phlox scoffed gently. "You know as well as I do that Vulcans share the same emotions as everyone else. They just hide them better."

T'Pol looked at him and stifled a sigh.

"I have felt a bit...distracted...today," she nodded. "Perhaps the events on the planet are a part of it."

"There is, ah, some other element then?" he probed.

"I would...rather not discuss it."

Phlox studied her for a moment, then he glanced down at his scanner. "Very well," he smiled, looking up, "but if you should change your mind, you know where to find me, hmm?"

"Thank you, Doctor," she said wearily, "but this matter will...resolve...by itself."

He nodded sympathetically, and the two proceeded to share their findings.


	5. Chapter 5

"It roughly translates to 'snowflake', Captain. Why do you ask?"

"Just curious," he smiled, then he looked up as he heard the turbolift.

Travis stepped out with a small, white board and a big, wide grin. He walked up to Hoshi and the captain.

"I brought you a little souvenir from the surface!" he beamed.

Hoshi lit up and stood, staring at the flat board.

"What is it?" she chirped.

Travis turned to the captain.

"I- It's ok, sir," he said. "I cleared it with Phlox, first."

Archer peeked, then he motioned.

"Go right ahead," he smiled.

Travis inflated himself and held his breath towards the expectant Hoshi.

"Well?" she said, whipping the air.

He flipped the board, revealing a dozen or so samples, all neatly pinned.

Hoshi's face fell flat.

"That's it?" she huffed. "Bugs?"

"Give 'em a chance," Archer nudged. "Move 'em around a bit, Travis."

Mayweather recovered somewhat and stood beside Hoshi. He moved the board beneath the light, so that they flashed and reflected their colors.

"Oh!" Hoshi exclaimed, bringing her hands to her cheeks. "You mean...all those? The swirls? They were these things?"

"Millions of them," Archer said. "Looked like a...I don't know what it looked like. It was amazing."

She took the board from Travis and waved it back and forth in delight, then she turned towards the captain.

"I can go tomorrow?" she whined, tilting her head. "Can't I?"

"Sure," he winked.

Archer ambled away as Travis told the tale. He sat down in his chair, then he glanced around the room and puzzled.

"Where's Lieutenant Reed?"

"...and then, they started hatching! It sounded like...Have you ever played with bubble wrap?"

"Bubble wrap?"

"Hoshi!"

"Hmm?" she said. "I mean, yes, sir?"

"Lieutenant Reed?"

"Oh!" she said. "He's helping Commander Tucker in engineering."

"What's going on in engineering?"

"The commander ran into some...trouble," she said.

"What kind of trouble?"

"He'd be better at explaining it than I would, sir."

He eyed her for a moment then nodded and pressed the button.

"Archer to Trip."

After a brief pause, Malcolm answered.

"This is Lieutenant Reed, sir," he said. "Commander Tucker is a bit...indisposed."

"What's going on down there, Lieutenant?"

"The commander was cleaning out the plasma conduits," Malcolm said, "and he ran into some...trouble."

"So I've heard," Archer gruffed. "What kind of trouble?"

Suddenly, T'Pol entered and didn't quite run to her station. She sat down without looking at anyone and covered herself with her work.

"It's difficult to explain, sir," Malcolm said.

"Try."

After a long pause, in which Archer stood up and paced full-circle around his chair, Malcolm's voice again rang out.

"The commander respectfully requests," he said, "that we install, er, an auto- mated duct cleaning system."

"I'll see what I can do," Archer fumed. "Put him on."

"Just a moment, sir, here he comes."

The captain sat back down and squirmed. Finally, the comm beeped.

"This is Trip," Tucker said, out of breath.

"What's going on down there, Trip?" Archer demanded. "And you'd better not say you just 'ran into some trouble'."

There was a long pause, then Trip came on and twanged off a lengthy list of problems that resulted from his attempts to clean the plasma conduits, using such terms as "over-loaded' and "mis-aligned". He continued, drawling in exasperation, until he finally finished his discourse by referencing the lights of a Christmas tree, the physics of falling dominoes, and the relative heat capacity of a specific Mexican pepper.

"We sure could use a hand down here, Cap'ain," he sighed. "What's T'Pol doin'?"

T'Pol perked, but she did not look up.

"I'll see if she's...busy," Archer said. "Keep me posted."

"Aye, aye, Cap'ain."

Archer turned to his science officer.

"T'Pol?"

She typed something and then turned her back, moving to the opposite console.

"T'Pol!"

"I'm sorry, Captain?" she said, slowly parting from her work. She looked at him with a question mark.

"Trip needs some help in engineering."

"What seems to be the matter?"

"He...ran into some...trouble," Archer stumbled.

She offered him another question mark.

"If you get a chance," he sighed. "I'm sure he'd appreciate a hand."

She seemed to regard the request with suspicion, and then she underscored the importance of her butterfly data. The captain acknowledged her bug study, but he persisted, stressing the greater importance of a functioning warp core. She eventually gave in and headed for the turbo lift.

* * *

A few minutes later, the engineering doors opened, and Malcolm looked up. He quickly turned around and laughed quietly at his shoes. The disheveled Trip glanced up at him, then down at his shoes, then over to the entrance, at which point, he slumped and spoke to his micro-spanner.

"Why couldn't you a'wore that this mornin'?" he grumbled.

T'Pol paused in the door way. She leaned in slightly and glanced left and right, then she took a moderately deep breath and walked towards the two men.

"Did you say something, Commander?" she asked.

Trip gave her a sideways glance.

"Yeah, I said, 'Why couldn't you take me with you this mornin'?"

"The captain said that you had...other plans," T'Pol blinked. "Lieutenant."

Malcolm nodded.

"Sub-commander."

Trip wiped the grease from his micro-spanner with a filthy rag, his head back at an odd angle, mouth half-open.

"Well, did ya'll have fun down there today?" he accused.

"The crew seemed to...enjoy themselves," she said flatly. "If that is what you mean."

"Yeah?" he jawed, "and how 'bout you?"

"I was able to conduct some...interesting research," she admitted.

Trip tossed the rag onto the pile and wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Well, you like to conduct 'interesting research', don't ya?" he asked.

"Yes?"

"Then you had fun!"

"Vulcans do not have fun," she said.

Trip shook his head, then he glared.

"What are you laughing at?" he snapped, turning towards Malcolm.

"Nothing, sir," Malcolm smirked. "Nothing at all."

"Well, why don't you quit standin' around here and go help somebody, then?" he groused. "Before Cap'ain comes down here and starts askin' more questions!"

"Who do you want me to help?" Malcolm stifled.

"Take yer pick!"

Malcolm winced and leaned back a bit, then he quickly nodded his head and wandered off to the other side of engineering. Suddenly, from the opposite direction, there was a small explosion, followed shortly by a shower of sparks and a menacing electrical sound.

"Oh, Lord," Trip sighed.

He leaned over the rail and looked at the mess.

"Ramirez!" he hollered.

"I'm on it, sir!"

Trip shook his head and stared off limply for a moment. Finally, T'Pol spoke.

"How may I assist you, Commander?" she asked politely.

Trip returned to his body and looked at her, then he looked all around and waved his arms in the air, before returning his eyes to T'Pol. She stared at him, blankly.

Finally, he calmed down a bit and sighed again. He scratched his eyebrow with a grimy finger and peeked up at her.

"How's about you help me realign these anti-matter injectors?" he cooled.

She nodded.

He wearily followed her around the corner and down the stairs. They each took positions in front of different stations, and Trip started pushing some buttons.

T'Pol waited for his cue.

"What're you readin'?"

"Eighty-nine percent," she said.

"Ok, hold on a minute..."

Trip stepped to the next station and pushed some more buttons, then he stepped back.

"So how was it down there today?" he asked. "Try five microns."

She made the adjustment.

"It was...memorable," she said. "Ninety-one percent."

Trip stepped and pushed.

"So? What happened?"

"We landed by a lake that was covered with insect larvae...pupae, rather. They appeared to...hatch simultaneously, after which they all flew up several hundred meters. A few minutes later, they died and fell back to the lake."

 

"They died?"

"The doctor seems to think that this was their...mating cycle," she browed. "He believes that it only occurs once every ten years."

"Doesn't sound like much of a honeymoon," Trip mumbled. "Five more microns..."

She made the adjustment.

"You ever hear of anything like that before?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, "though not to this extreme. There is a similar species on your planet. I believe the doctor called them, 'mayflies'."

Trip moved to a third station and pushed, then he glanced at T'Pol.

"Ninety-three percent," she said.

Trip moved back.

"I know all about mayflies," he said. "We used to fish with 'em. We'd just pluck 'em off the side of the dock, hook 'em, and throw 'em in. Bluegill loved 'em. Catfish didn't seem too interested, though...Gimme three more."

She made the adjustment.

"Ninety-six percent."

Trip moved to a fourth station, pushed, and moved back.

"Well, was it pretty?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes away.

"It was visually...appealing," she said carefully.

"So it was pretty," he insisted. "How 'bout now?"

She looked at Trip, then re-focused on the panel.

"I am reading ninety-eight percent efficiency."

"Back it off a half."

She made the adjustment.

"It's movie night tonight," Trip said, peeking up. "You comin'?"

"I'm afraid not," said T'Pol. "I want to finish my analysis of today's samples."

"It's a good one..." he pushed.

"That's what you say about all of them," she said flatly. "Ninety-eight-point- four."

"Yeah, well, this one's extra-good," he coaxed. "'Suspicious.' Last movie by Mary Kate Olsen..."

Trip stepped, pushed, stepped, pushed, stepped, pushed, then returned.

"Perhaps another time," she said. "Ninety-eight-point-eight."

T'Pol backed away from the console and crossed her arms. Trip made a final adjustment and walked up beside her.

"It won an Academy award for best picture," he mugged.

She glared.

"Suit yourself," he said, and he wiped his grimy brow with his grimy sleeve.

"Do you require...any further assistance?"

"Nope. That'll do it," he said. "Thanks. I guess I'll see you at dinner."

"I will be dining in my quarters tonight. I have already informed the captain."

Trip looked at her for a moment; T'Pol leaned a few microns away.

"Somethin' botherin' you?" he asked.

"I simply want to finish analyzing the data before tomorrow's survey," she explained patiently.

"Well, you know what they say..."

She raised a brow.

"All work and no play makes T'Jill a dull Vulcan..."

"To the contrary," T'Pol fired back, flatly. "I find Ambassador T'Jill's work to be both informative and insightful."

Trip blinked.

"I'll, uhhhh, see ya at breakfast tomorrow, then," he stammered.

He watched her walk away and shook his head. A few moments later, there was another minor explosion, followed by an annoying alarm. Trip ran to the other side of the engine and looked at the mess. He threw his hands in the air and yelled.

"Ramirez!"

"I'm on it, sir!"


	6. Chapter 6

Archer sat back from his table in the captain's mess hall. His arms were crossed, and he was staring down at nothing in particular. He looked up as the doors swished open and raised his eyebrows at his chief engineer, smiling.

Trip staggered inside. Though he was reasonably clean, he gave the appearance of someone who had just finished a long, hard day.

"Trip," Archer greeted.

He responded with a nod and a sigh, then he sank into his seat.

After a moment, the steward entered and served them dinner. The captain had some sort of chicken platter; Trip, on the other hand, had a large steak—it was accompanied by large potatoes. He perked up a bit.

"Going all out tonight?" the captain asked.

"I'm starvin' to death," he sliced. "It was one thing after another today. This is the first chance I've had to sit down and eat somethin'."

He took a healthy bite and savored. Archer shook his head and reached for the bottle.

"Well, I've got good news," he told him. "You can have tomorrow off."

He filled each of their glasses with some red wine.

"I hope you're not pullin' my leg," Trip chewed. "That wouldn't be right."

"I'm serious," Archer smiled. "As a matter of fact, I think that—"

The doors to the captain's mess slid open again, and T'Pol entered quickly.

Without looking up, she took her seat. The two men started to stand, but she was too fast for them. They glanced at each other and slowly sat back down.

"I thought you said that you weren't comin'!" Trip stared.

"I obviously changed my mind," T'Pol said, and she placed a napkin on her lap.

"Well, it's a pleasant...surprise," Archer noted. "I was just about to tell Trip, here, how I thought that the whole crew should get a chance to see the...event."

Trip's knife clanked the plate, and he froze mid-chew.

"The whole crew?"

"Not at the same time," Archer rolled, sipping his wine. "I figure half in the morning and half in the afternoon. You're in charge."

"I thought you said I had the day off!"

The captain squinted at him, coolly.

"I would think that, compared to tearing up my ship, managing a clipboard and a couple of shuttle pods, would be a day off."

Trip shrugged his eyebrows and resumed his assault on the steak.

The steward brought out a plate of vegetables and a bowl of soup for T'Pol. She quietly thanked him, and then she paused before speaking to Archer.

"Captain, do you think it is...wise for everyone to be exposed to the alien atmosphere?"

Archer nodded his head several times as he finished his bite.

"I've already talked to Phlox about it," he explained. "He informed me that there is no threat on that planet whatsoever."

T'Pol blinked.

"None that we have discovered," she qualified.

Archer gave her a side-ways glance, then he fidgeted with his food.

"Well, there's no reward without risk," he said to his chicken, then he raised his head. "I think...the reward of witnessing something that you'll remember as long as you live is worth...whatever minimal risk there may or may not be."

Trip looked up at him.

"It was that good?" he chewed.

"It was that good."

He shook his head and forked a potato. T'Pol considered her soup in silence.

"Don't you agree?" Archer asked, brow high.

She paused and lowered her spoon.

"I suppose the crew is...due for a rest," she said carefully. "Perhaps Chef can prepare a..."

"A picnic!" Trip blurted.

"A lunch," she corrected.

"Same thing," he flipped, pouring some more steak sauce.

"Well, whatever you call it," Archer said. "I think it's a great idea. I'll speak with Chef after dinner. Maybe Hoshi can coordinate that, unless, of course, you want to do it?"

"I'm perfectly happy with my clipboard and my shuttlepods," Trip nodded.

"T'Pol, you're in charge of selecting the picnic, er, the landing sites."

She looked at him and sipped her water.

They continued their dining with a recount of the day's events. Archer waxed on about the butterflies; Trip, however, was somewhat evasive about his adventures down in engineering. T'Pol excused herself early, exiting through the galley with the claim that she desired an additional stick of celery. She made her way to her quarters via the least efficient route possible, and once inside, she sighed and sat on the edge of her bed. After a few moments, she moved to her computer station and analyzed some more data.

"You notice anything...funny about her today?" Trip asked, leaning back in his chair.

"Funny?"

"You know...Odd? Peculiar? Strange?" he elaborated. "I mean, more so than usual?"

"Beats me," Archer shrugged. "You know her better than I do."

"That's not sayin' much..."

"No more...magic fingers?" Archer poked.

"They were neural node treatments!"

"Must be rough," Archer grimaced. "How do you sleep at night?"

"Not as good as I used to," Trip muttered, then he leaned towards the captain and whispered, "Did she ever...?"

"What?"

"Did she ever...? You know..."

Trip held both hands in front of his face and wiggled his fingers.

Archer slowly nodded his head.

"I'm afraid that's classified information," he hemmed, finishing off his drink. He set the glass on the table.

"Maybe she found out about...our little bet," Trip said, rubbing his chin. "She's got real good ears, ya know."

"I don't think so," Archer said. "If she did, she probably would have said something."

"I'm not so sure," Trip shook his head. "I mean, think about it—she's a Vulcan and she's a woman." His eyebrows shot up, and he pointed his finger five or six times.

"Well..."

"I mean, what if she thought we were makin' fun of her or somethin'?" he continued. "You ever met a woman who has a sense of humor about her...fashion choices? Huh?"

Archer conceded the point, but he kept going.

"Now you factor that in with the whole Vulcan thing..."

Trip squirmed.

"Well, I don't think that's the case," Archer said, standing up. "But to be on the safe side, let's not...make any more bets..."

Trip quickly nodded his head.

"Regardless," he added. "If it doesn't clear up, I'll have a talk with her...or try to."

He cracked his back, and Trip got to his feet.

"You goin' to the movie?" he asked.

"I'm afraid not," Archer said. "I've still got some...matters to attend to. How 'bout you?"

"Nah, I'd probably fall asleep before the openin' credits were finished," he yawned. "Besides, I figure I'd better try to come up with some kind of crew rotation for tomorrow, seein' how it's my day off and everything."

The captain cleared his throat.

"How are my plasma conduits shaping up?" he smiled.

Trip suddenly looked very tired.

"Ok," he said. "I'll quit my whinin'."

* * *

Trip stumbled back to his quarters and fell asleep on his clipboard fifteen minutes later. Archer informed Chef about the picnic, then he retired to his room and finished his preparations. He played with Porthos for a while, then at 22:00 hours, he pushed the button on his comm.

"Archer to Sub-commander T'Pol."

He cut a small chunk of cheddar and motioned; Porthos trotted to his feet.

"You want some cheese?" he asked.

"This is T'Pol."

"If you...have a moment," he said to the comm, "would you please stop by my quarters?" He released the button and waited for her response, giving Porthos a pat. Porthos yawned, then he scratched his ear. Archer yawned and looked around the room, then he furrowed and pressed the button again.

"T'Pol?"

After a long pause, she responded.

"I was...just preparing for bed," she explained slowly. "Is it...urgent?"

Archer huffed, then he addressed the comm.

"No," he said calmly. "No, I wouldn't say that it's 'urgent', but it would be best if I saw you tonight."

He released the button and offered the small hunk of cheese to Porthos. The dog wagged his tail.

"You gotta do better than that," he nagged.

Archer held the chunk higher; Porthos tilted his head and cocked his ears. Finally, the captain relented and dropped the cheese, then he rolled his eyes and returned his finger to the button.

"T'Pol?"

After another long pause, he heard what sounded like a sigh.

"Very well," she conceded.

Porthos managed to swindle two more pieces before Archer cut him off. The dog returned to his pillow, and a few minutes later, the door beeped. The captain flicked and rustled, then he spoke.

"Come."

The hatch slid open, and T'Pol stood warily a full step back from the entrance. She peered into the room.

As she seemed reticent to move, Archer stood up and gestured.

"Please, Sub-commander..."

T'Pol hesitated, then she leaned, placing her hand lightly on the bulkhead. She quickly scanned the interior, then entered. The door slid shut behind her, and she seemed somewhat relieved. After a brief pause, she spoke.

"Why did you need to see me, Captain?"

"Have a seat," he smiled. "What'd you think of the show today?"

"It was...memorable," she said.

"That's good, especially when you consider..."

He reached between some books on his shelf and grabbed something. He held it behind his back, and his face betrayed a silly grin.

"Especially when you consider the occasion," he said. "Happy birthday."

He swung his arm around and revealed a tiny cake on a small dish. It held a single, burning candle.

T'Pol looked up, and her eyes widened ever-so-slightly.

"How...did you- ?"

"A few weeks ago, I received a letter," Archer paced.

"From...whom?"

"From your mother," he declared.

T'Pol blinked and sat impossibly straighter.

"Why would my mother write to you?" she said slowly.

"Probably because I wrote to her first," he grinned. "It's...blueberry. Now, don't worry, I asked Chef to—"

"Why would you write to my mother?" she said more slowly.

Archer set the plate on the table, then he fetched two more, along with some silverware. He clasped his hands in front of him and resumed his pacing.

"You know I...try to keep in touch with the families of my...crew, especially my senior officers. And...of course...I wanted to know when your birthday was..."

He stopped and presented her with a somewhat nervous Cheshire cat.

"I see."

"Surprised?"

"Yes," she admitted, then she eyed the door, ominously.

"Don't worry," he said, raising his hands. "I didn't tell anybody."

She cautiously exhaled, then slouched back to straight.

"I appreciate your...discretion," she nodded.

He looked down at the flaming confection then back to T'Pol.

"Well," he pointed. "Make a wish!"

She stared at him, then she blinked, then she stared at him some more.

"Vulcans," she began. She stopped herself, however, and paused, then she looked down at the delicate flame.

T'Pol took a short breath, then she closed her eyes and leaned. She hesitated, briefly, and glanced up at the grinning Archer, then she daintily blew out the candle.

"Don't tell me what you wished for," he warned. "Or it won't come true."

She nodded slowly, but she did not look up.

"Cut your muffin!" he said.

She looked up.

"Pardon?"

"Your muffin! Don't worry, there's almost no sugar in it."

She debated for a moment, then she slowly reached for the small knife and fork. She sliced the tiny cake in half, then she halved the halves, then she forked a quarter onto her plate and halved it.

Archer coaxed.

She looked at him.

"Please," she gestured.

Archer smiled and retrieved a pitcher of water and some cups. He filled both and joined her at the small table, where they quietly sat and enjoyed T'Pol's muffin.

After a while, the captain excused himself and walked across the room as T'Pol looked on. He bent and opened the his lower desk drawer, then he reached inside. He pulled out a small package wrapped in colorful paper and smiled as he presented it to her.

She accepted it quietly and placed it on the table.

Again, he coaxed, nodding, and she paused, then carefully removed the wrapping paper, eventually revealing a small, box-like box made out of wood.

"Now I know it's a little rough around the edges," Archer said, "but it gets a whole lot better once you—"

"Thank you, Captain," she interrupted, placing her hands in her lap.

Archer pointed in tiny circles and shook his head.

"No," he puffed. "It's not that...It's what's inside!"

T'Pol looked up at him, then back down to the box-like box. She carefully reached out and lowered her head, and she found what probably was a lid. Warily, she grasped it with the fingertips of both hands and slowly opened it. Music began play, a soft piano, and a small hologram lit up, glowing a warm red.

"It's Vulcan!" Archer grinned.

"Yes."

For a long moment, she watched her home world slowly revolve to the sounds of the piano, then she reached again and closed the lid.

"Thank you, Captain," she said. "It was very...thoughtful."

He nodded and smiled, then he paced some more.

"The music," he said, "is from a...French composer from the late...nineteenth...uhh, early twentieth...century."

T'Pol stared.

"Erik...Satie..."

T'Pol blinked.

"'Three Gym...nopodies'—I think that's how it's pronounced, the...first one," he stumbled. "I...searched the Vulcan database for something a bit more...Vulcan, but I didn't find anything that...uhh, that..."

T'Pol completed his thought for him.

"You didn't find anything that you liked," she said flatly.

Archer flashed something of a wincing-smile.

"I...always found this music to be a little...introspective," he struggled. "Relaxing..."

T'Pol stared.

"I thought it...seemed...appropriate..."

T'Pol blinked.

"I thought...you...might...enjoy...uhh..."

Silence, ever threatening, decided to set in full, and Archer appeared to be at a loss.

"Well, I suppose I should let you get to bed," he said, clearing his throat. "Maybe this was a mistake...I don't know. Wouldn't be the first time..."

T'Pol stood up and gently collected her present, and she started for the door. She hesitated, though, then turned around.

"I have been...thinking," she said to the floor, "about Vulcan...recently..."

She looked at him.

"I've been away for...quite some time."

Jonathan smiled and nodded, and he relaxed slightly. Then they listened to the low hum of the engine for a few more moments until T'Pol spoke again.

"Captain, I...I've..."

Archer kindly cleared his throat.

"Goodnight, T'Pol," he said, "and...Pah N'talla."

He pushed the button for her.

The door slid open, and T'Pol stepped outside. She half-turned and glanced back at him.

"Thank you," she said, and she left, the door sliding shut behind her.

Archer stood there for a while, then he completely deflated.

* * *

T'Pol returned directly to her quarters. She stood beside her bed and paused, considering the rough-hewn music box in her hand. She sighed deeply and looked around her room for a moment, then she finally made her decision and walked over to the wall. Standing on her tip-toes, she reached to the highest shelf and set it, then she backed up a few steps and studied. She returned and, tip-toeing again, she pushed the box back farther on the shelf with the ends of her fingers.

T'Pol lit a candle and disrobed, then she donned her silks and went to the bathroom. After a few minutes, she returned and switched off the lights, and the room glowed a soft, warm orange.

Moving to her locker, she retrieved her mat and unfurled it, then she placed it on the floor in front of the flame. She sat and crossed her legs and exhaled deeply, then she closed her eyes and meditated for a good while. When she was finished, she rubbed her neck and leaned forward. T'Pol paused and stared for a moment, watching the flame as it wavered gently in the still air. Finally, she blew, and the room surrendered to shadow.

Standing up, T'Pol returned both mat and candle, then she moved to her bed and pulled down the covers. She climbed in and lay on her back for a while, then she drew up the sheets and closed her eyes. After a few minutes, she turned on her side, and shortly, she turned on the other. Later still, she fluffed her pillow and returned to her back, where she observed the muted ceiling and listened to the engine's low hum.

At last, she sighed. She slowly drew back the covers and sat on the edge of her bed, before standing and walking over to the shadowed wall. T'Pol reached, again on her tip-toes, to the high shelf, but could not manage a proper grip. She tried once more, then she looked around the darkened room.

T'Pol stepped over and picked up her desk chair. Positioning it beneath the high shelf, she climbed and reached. After retrieving the box, she stepped lightly down and walked back to her bed, where she delicately placed it on the small stand. She then removed the chair to its proper place.

Returning to bed, T'Pol rested on her back. She considered the ceiling for a few moments, then she rolled on her side and considered the box. After quite some time, she reached slowly towards the shadow and carefully opened the lid.

Erik Satie, in perfect tune with the engine, played softly his piano, as tiny Vulcan rose to greet her, bathing her face in a warm red.

Putting her hands beneath her pillow, T'Pol watched it slowly spin.


End file.
